


Too Quiet, Too Loud

by BabylonsFall



Series: Prompts [11]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 15:39:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12560660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall
Summary: Jacob's sleeping habits are already weird. So, when they get back from Oklahoma, it takes maybe a little too long to notice something's wrong.(As long as Ezekiel and Cassandra help make it right again, it'll be okay. Right?)





	Too Quiet, Too Loud

**Author's Note:**

> I was given this prompt: _Sleep deprived Jacob_
> 
> And this monster is both late and probably more angsty than that prompt deserved. But! I hope you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> _warnings, just in case: alcohol mention (drinking as coping, briefly mentioned, not on-screen), alluded disassociation episodes_

It wasn’t something anyone set out to notice. But, by the time they did, they were all living out of each other’s pockets, whether they liked it or not. They all knew far more about each other than they probably would’ve liked - and all lived with it the same way anyone does when stuck in close conditions: teasing, ignoring it, making comments when things change but otherwise, just leaving it be.

If Jenkins was nursing coffee, speaking to him before it was gone was a bad idea. Flynn had regular arguments with the Library, and it was best to just step out of his way. Eve would start fiddling with whatever was in reach if she needed to punch something (or, you know, just work out for a bit, whatever she called it). Sunglasses meant talking quietly around Cassandra for awhile. Loose valuables during a conversation or meeting were basically asking Ezekiel to lift them - for practice, promise. Jacob could fall asleep, anywhere, anytime, and wake up just as easily to rejoin the conversation.

The first couple of times it happened, there had been a couple worried noises - did something happen, why wasn’t he sleeping at home, is this really that boring, and the like - which, he, of course, brushed off. If pressed, he blamed working with his Pop at drill sites since he was old enough to know when to move out of the way; there, the noise never stopped, but if you wanted to function without heart-palpitating amounts of caffeine, you took what sleep you could. No one really pointed out that sleeping before work could’ve fixed that.

Eventually, it was just normal to find Jacob asleep at his desk, only to pop back up a little while later and go back to typing like he hadn’t stopped. Or passed out two minutes into a car trip whenever the team couldn’t be bothered with the Back Door. Or curled up in a corner in the stacks, books piled around him, listening to quiet music on a pair of beat-up headphones. Or tucked into a corner of a couch in the theatre, some random movie playing low - and _that_ one had been interesting, since everyone had spent the hour up to that actively looking for the man.

It was just a normal facet of working at the Library. You refilled Jenkins coffee cup if he kept glaring, made sure Flynn didn’t walk into bookshelves, got out of Eve’s way, got Cassandra advil and tea, watched your pockets around Ezekiel, and occasionally stepped over a passed out Jacob.

Which, of course, meant that as soon as they’d all settled into the fine-lined rhythm of working around each other, one little thing was all it took to screw it up.

It wasn’t a sudden thing, which is the only reason Cassandra and Ezekiel cut themselves a little slack, later on. Jacob didn’t come into the Library the next day suddenly looking wiped and out of sorts. He didn’t stop sleeping at his desk from one day to the next. They still sometimes tripped over him between the shelves. He still popped right back into conversations as if he hadn’t just been quietly snoring, leaning against the window in the car.

But, sure enough, each happened less and less, after they came back from Oklahoma. Coffee mugs took up the space on his desk he normally cleared to rest his head. Trips back into the maze of shelves always ended up with him back at his desk. He was still quiet in the car - enough that if no one was paying attention, he might as well have been asleep - watching whatever landscape was blurring past the windows.

Jacob came into the Library earlier and earlier, to the point that he even tended to beat Eve in - she’d end up wandering through the Back Door, as put together as anyone was at six am, to find Jacob perched at his desk, empty coffee mug beside him, sparing her a ‘good morning’ and not much else.

It took weeks for the bags under his eyes to become obvious - and whether that was because it had taken that long for them to become bruised smears or because he finally just gave up hiding them, they still didn’t know, and didn’t really want to ask when it was all said and done.

Jenkins made off-comments about being able to go through the shelves without tripping. Flynn remarked about no longer being worried about waking Jacob up when he was arguing at the Library. Eve seemed to enjoy having a near on-call sparring partner in the mornings. Cassandra and Ezekiel teased along - and why wouldn’t they. Outside of the bags and sudden caffeine intake, Jacob was as lively as usual, as focused on cases, as likely to bust into a historical rant of truly epic proportions.

Up until Ezekiel caught Jacob curled up in the theatre again. He hadn’t even known Jacob was in the Library that night - they’d all split early, as a reward for finishing up a case with absolutely no problems (“A goddamn miracle. Get outta here before the universe decides to laugh at us.”) Hell, he was only there because he’d wanted to ask Jenkins about a couple of exhibits he’d cased a couple years ago - he remembered them being funky, and he’d wanted to double check a couple things before he forgot again.

It took him a couple moments to figure out just what was wrong with the scene - it almost looked exactly like when they found Jacob in the theatre a couple weeks ago: asleep, with some no-name movie on in the background. Then, he hadn’t smelled like a distillery though (thankfully, he was empty-handed at least). And he’d been actually asleep, not watching the screen with heavy-lidded eyes like he was now. Ezekiel made the executive decision to leave him the hell alone that night. And if he went back to check a couple of times, just to make sure Jacob was still there and still empty-handed, well. No one else was there to notice.

And up until Cassandra caught Jacob in research loop. It didn’t click the first couple of times she watched him get up from his desk and head into the stacks, only to come back empty-handed. But by the fourth or fifth, he’d started looking frustrated, bordering on angry, and when she’d followed him back, he’d ended up staring at the shelves, just. Confused. And a little bit lost. She’d stepped in at that point, asking if he wanted any help looking for something. He’d looked painfully embarrassed, but also so relieved it broke her heart just a little bit. (And just a little bit more when it turned out what he was looking for was on the other side of the Library.) He’d muttered a thanks and returned to his desk, not moving from it for the rest of the day.

After that, Ezekiel and Cassandra noticed more and more - after another week of sidestepping around each other, trying to figure out how to bring it up in the first place. Little things, here and there. More frustrated grumbling with his research. Fewer off-the-cuff history rants. More and more confused looks. A handful of nights where they found him in the theatre again (never as bad as that first though, thankfully). Darker and darker shadows under his eyes. Connecting everything back to him no longer sleeping in the Library was just that final push to get them to resolve to do something about it.

They both agreed that a subtle approach would probably work better - the last thing they needed was Jacob shutting them down completely, insisting he was fine and that they should just leave well enough alone. Which, he would. They knew he well enough by now for that. So. Subtle. They could do subtle.

* * *

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

“This tea is amazing, if you want to try it. Knocks me right out most nights.”

“Has coffee just. Replaced your blood?”

“What, no comment on the work of… Donatello? Wasn’t he one of the turtles?”

“You’ve been working on that paper for awhile, maybe you should take a break?”

“Jacob, really. Are you okay?”

“What the hell, mate. What happened?”

* * *

Okay, so. They couldn’t do subtle. In their defense, they thought they could. They went in with the best intentions. And, in their defense, their flailing and Jacob’s subsequent snapping, distracting (he was rather adept at it, and if the situation had been literally anything else, Ezekiel would’ve been impressed. The man somehow managed to get all four of them to focus on an artifact shelf for about three seconds. Just long enough for him to vanish) and running away had gotten Eve’s attention.

It took about thirty seconds of her cornering them in the kitchen off the Annex for them to spill everything. It came out in a tumble that they weren’t just riling him up for the hell of it - that they were actually worried, that he was getting worse and they could prove it. Which is about the time they figured out that Jacob had been hiding it a lot better around Eve and Jenkins, go figure.

It took another thirty minutes for them to convince her that they could handle this. _Why_ they were set on handling it themselves… well, that could be answered later, if at all. Definitely not the point right now. And they really only got her to agree with a promise that if they couldn’t, they’d come to her. Which, given their last attempt, was a fair enough deal.

* * *

Subtly talking to Jacob was out. Watching him slowly devolve into a painful to watch swing between exhausted stumbling around the Library and manic typing at his desk was out. Cornering the man during regular hours were out (Seriously. It was impressive just how fast he could get out of a conversation.)

When they finally hit on something that _worked_ , they both kind of kicked themselves, because honestly.

They were both in the second floor of the Annex, late at night, brainstorming (and sidestepping a serious conversation neither wanted to have just yet by focusing on how to help the, you know, topic of that conversation. But whatever), when Jacob wandered in through the main door and down the hall. He didn’t seem to notice them, instead heading back into the Library proper - the theatre most likely. Both of them shared a look when he got close enough for them to smell the bar on him - almost as strong as that first night, which sent Ezekiel’s stomach spiraling for a moment. To their relief, he seemed steady on his feet and bright eyed, so. Small blessings at least.

They gave it a minute, having a silent conversation that involved a lot of hand-waving, eyebrow ticks and weird faces before they hauled themselves up and after him, neither particularly enamored with the plan that they had settled on, but having nothing better to fall back on.

Sure enough, they found him in the theatre, the wide screen already playing… something. Some 80s action flick is about all Cassandra can figure. Jacob’s dropped on the couch in the center - one of several Jenkins insists he had nothing to do with getting into the theatre when it became clear that impromptu movie nights were going to be a thing - watching without really seeing anything.

They don’t know what it means, when, when they drop on the couch to either side of him, he takes a moment to just glance at both of them. No distracting, no running. Just a wet, heavy sigh that seems to sink him further into the couch.

They don’t say anything that night. Not when the movie rolls over into another mindless action flick. Not when Jacob’s head ends up on Ezekiel’s shoulder for all of two seconds before he snaps himself back up. Not when he shoves himself up after the third movie and leaves without a word. (And not when he comes in the next morning and refuses to look them in the eye.)

But he comes back that next night. And just like before, they sit with him. They don’t comment on the wet, shuddery breaths he heaves when the movie’s at its loudest. They don’t comment when he gets up - a hand their way to indicate they should stay - and comes back with a mug of coffee, and two cups of tea for them. They don’t comment when he rubs roughly at his eyes and shoves himself up straight, even if he stopped taking in anything on the screen an hour ago. He falls asleep against Cassandra’s shoulder for two minutes before he’s startling awake, shoving himself off the couch and leaving in the next moment.

He comes in late the next morning, looking rough, and worn, and all kinds of beaten down like he hasn’t let himself look these past couple of weeks. He meets their eyes for a breath, when he first gets in, before doing a remarkable impression of being wholly dedicated to his research for the rest of the day. He doesn’t bother to leave that night. Just waits for Eve to go home, Jenkins to disappear wherever it is he goes, and for Flynn to run out the Back Door after who knows what. When the Annex is quiet again, he gets up and heads back to the theatre.

Some silent black and white film is on, when Ezekiel and Cassandra get there.

No one says anything for a long time. Not about how they both sandwich him in closer than they had the nights before. Not about how his breathing has gone wet and heavy, and how they all know that if he had the energy, he’d be sobbing. And definitely about how the movie is switched to something loud and bright and fast without anyone asking, just when Jacob chokes on a rough gasp.

“...We left the cave, right?” It’s a soft question, his voice small and thin like Cassandra and Ezekiel had never heard before - hadn’t thought they could, coming from him. They’re careful not to stare at him - though they share a worried, panicked look over his head. They don’t rush into the reassurances, both holding themselves back just that bit.

They may not be masters at subtlety, but they’ve both had their own share of late nights, heavy moments, curled around themselves and scared, so scared the light the next morning will be _wrong_ because something has so fundamentally changed - nights in hospital beds, soft, cool hands turned acidic on her fragile skin. Evenings in dank motels, in unnamed towns, a sharp weight in his chest, sick curling in his gut, as he realized no one was looking for him - that they knew that rushing in would crack the air around them.

They also know that that’s not the question he wants answered, not really.

“Yeah, we left. Weeks ago.” Ezekiel reassures anyway, voice low and almost lost to the explosions on screen.

“We all did.” Cassandra adds in, just as soft.

Its another long while before anyone speaks again. Long enough that when they look over, Jacob’s eyes are closed and his breathing has evened out, but they don’t dare move.

“It’s too quiet.” Neither of them will own up to startling when he speaks again, eyes still closed. (But, later, when things are better, and he’s willing to joke about this, he’ll insist both of them almost fell off the couch.) “At my apartment. Here. Whatever bar I can find. It’s all too quiet.”

Ezekiel’s the one to recover first, nose scrunched up as he parses his way through that, and about to comment on the loud explosions currently playing on screen.

“Not out here, Jones.” One hand comes up to tap his temple. “I keep thinking.” He pauses, voice catching for a moment before he pulls it together. “I keep thinking. I walked out of that hole. Lied right to his face and kept walking. Kept walking right back into the cave. Had to, right? Everything’s too _quiet_.” the last word spit out like a curse, a hand brought up over his eyes, as if to keep them closed despite everything. “I keep wondering if I didn’t get locked in there instead. ‘Cause I can’t create anything past this Library Can’t sleep. Can’t get drunk. Can’t… see anything past this.

“You know. My phone used to never shut up. Any time of day, stupid times of night. I’d get something from someone - one of my aunts telling me how the damn door still squeaks despite her son promising to fix it. One of my cousins crowing about a new car part he got for a steal, even if he couldn’t tell his own ass from an actual deal. Fuckin’... one of the guys at the rig, bitching about the hours. Something. But these past couple of weeks? Nothing. I can’t… can’t create anything. So, it’d make sense, right? If I was still stuck down there.” He sounds desperate by the end - not like he believes what he’s saying, but like he almost wants to.

Cassandra and Ezekiel have had years to come to terms with their families. With lost little moments meant to be shared and instead, hidden away. With holidays spent with whatever pockets of warmth they themselves could create. With the aches and pains that came with tumbling onto your own two feet without a helping hand. With looking over their shoulders and seeing empty space where once warm smiles waited for them. They’ve both had months now to get used to looking again - seeing proud smiles and fond, if exasperated, eye rolls.

Realizing Jacob hadn’t been looking, all this time, how he’d kept one foot out the door and planted firmly in the churned up dirt burned yellow by the sun back home… made a whole lot of sense actually.

And also explained how they’d all missed this. After all, of all of them, he was the only family man of the group. Not in a healthy way, necessarily - both of them still wanted to go toe to toe with Isaac about a couple of things, if they thought they’d get within ten feet of him with Jacob hauling them back - but definitely in a visceral way.

Having all of that yanked out from under him, after finally standing up to the shadow over his shoulders, after twenty-plus years of leaning so heavily on it, on building his entire self off of it? Adding in what had likely been a week or two of rough nights right after, and who knows how many bars he hit, if he was talking about how he couldn’t drink himself to sleep, yeah, they could see the spiral now, clear as day.

There was another conversation, over Jacob’s head where he’d slipped down farther into the couch, drained and limp from exhaustion, that consisted of more faces and head shakes than was probably wholly necessary. But, another plan was made.

* * *

Eve never asked how they fixed things. Which was probably for the best, since, up until it worked, Ezekiel and Cassandra hadn’t really been sure it _would_.

It had been the little things really, after that night. Invitations for nights out of the Library. Conversations continued over a near never-ending stream of texts, updates about stupid little things meant to make each other smile and laugh. Inviting themselves back to Jacob’s apartment - completely innocently and still completely not subtle, but apparently Jacob had given up completely on shooing the both of them off - for movie nights, where they stayed up later than he did on principle, arguing and chattering about everything and nothing under the sun, not loud, but not doing anything to keep quiet either.

Days out where the entire team did nothing job related. Nights in where they ordered take out, picked an awful movie that no one had seen, and either tore it to pieces or surprisingly loved it.

There were only five of them - and only two who were acutely aware of the actual plan. Maybe three. Who knew what Jenkins knew - but, slowly but surely, that quiet was filled back up. Connections built up, threaded through the Library but existing outside of it.

Things weren’t perfect. They still argued and bickered. They all still ended up hyperfocused on cases and everything narrowed back down to the Library. There were still nights Cassandra and Ezekiel would go looking and find Jacob in the theatre - but they’d take that over the one night they’d tracked him down to a no name dive bar - but always far apart and getting easier and easier to pull him out of.

(It wouldn’t have worked at all, they knew, without Jacob actively picking himself up either, actively trying to connect with the Library and the world again - but they also knew, he would’ve fallen right back down if they hadn’t been there to pick him up and keep him going.)

So, no, things weren’t perfect. But they were getting better. Would continue getting better. The bruises had disappeared from under Jacob’s eyes. Jenkins occasionally tripped over him, asleep, back in the stacks. Flynn occasionally had to tone down his rants towards the ceiling when Jacob was napping at his desk again. Eve got her sparring partner back, at more regular hours - and one that could actually hit now that he was well rested and coordinated again.

(And maybe, eventually, the three of them would stop sidestepping each other and have another conversation. But, one break through at a time.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always loved!
> 
> Quick note: if you think some warnings need to be added or the warnings need to be added to the actual tags, please let me know!
> 
> Come say hi on[ tumblr](https://distinctivelibrarians.tumblr.com) if you'd like!


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